Dave Bonta's poem is only three short lines, but it paints a whole mood. A speaker spends an entire afternoon rowing alone, and the rowing doesn't take them anywhere. They move "in rings," going round and round rather than forward. Then the last line shifts: they are "in too much wine," as if the drinking is another kind of water they have drifted into.
The title, "A sailor's life," sounds grand and adventurous, which makes the scene feel quietly ironic. Instead of open seas, we get solitude, repetition and a bit of drunken aimlessness. The speaker doesn't complain, though. The tone is flat and matter-of-fact, which can read as either contentment or a kind of numb loneliness.
The mood is drifting, hazy and a little melancholy. Judging by the wording, the poem suggests a person going through the motions of freedom without really getting anywhere, and the reader is left to decide whether that feels peaceful or sad.